


Upside Down

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Category: Glee
Genre: Broken Bones, Car Accidents, Fake Marriage, First Kiss, Head Injury, Hospitalization, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a rainy fall night, Finn and Puck are involved in a multiple car collision on I-75.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upside Down

A flashing yellow light keeps interrupting the darkness, and Finn squints his eyes closed again, trying to block out the glare. When he opens his eyes again, things start to come into closer focus. The broken glass between Finn and the yellow flash catches and refracts the light into weird patterns, and that’s about the point at which Finn realizes he’s upside down.

“Dude,” Puck’s voice says. “I’ve never seen a bloody nose on a forehead before.” 

“Bet it’s gross,” Finn answers, then realizes that Puck’s talking about him. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, and his hand comes away bright red. “Yeah, it’s gross,” he confirms.

Puck snorts. “Yeah. You remember what happened?” 

“No. Well, kind of.” Finn tries to pinch his nose to stop the blood flow. His nose hurts like hell, though, and he has a hard time pinching it in a way that doesn’t send agonizing pain through his face. “There was a truck, I think?”

“Yeah. Big mess.” Puck shift and groans. “I don’t know how, but it did something to my ankle. Guess it’s a good thing Carole always made us put on our seat belts.”

“So are we upside down?” Finn asks. 

“Yeah. I think we went over the truck but that’s kind of weird, right?” Puck sighs. “I heard more screeching and glass breaking and stuff after we stopped.”

“Shit. Okay, can you get out of your door?” Finn asks. “Maybe if I undo your buckle, you could crawl out.”

“Ankle’s pinned,” Puck says. “Hurts like a motherfucker if I try to move it. Somebody’s got to have called the cops by now, at least. And you don’t need to fuck up your head even more.”

“Is anything on fire? On the news, these things always have fires or explosions,” Finn says. “You think the rain’ll keep that from happening?”

Puck takes a deep breath, then exhales. “Don’t smell anything. Damn, I hope this isn’t our thirty seconds of fame. Being one out of every how many cars in a multicar pileup.”

“I smell something. It’s chemically, though, so maybe it’s the airbag. It’s bad.”

“Aren’t airbags supposed to stink? Anyway, you’ve got all that blood-smell, too.” 

“I think I might drown in my own blood,” Finn says, feeling himself start to panic. “Puck, how do we get out of the car?”

“I think we wait for the firetrucks to cut us out,” Puck admits. “You want me to try to get your phone? Mine went flying.”

“Yeah, can you reach it?”

“I’ll try, anyway.” Puck shifts again, his hand stretching up towards Finn’s pocket. His hand is covered in small, shallow cuts, some of them still bleeding, and Puck winces as he wrestles with the phone. “Well, it’s cracked,” he says after a moment. “But it has a signal.”

“Your hand,” Finn says. “You’re bleeding. We need to get you out of this car, man.”

“They aren’t deep,” Puck says dismissively. “You think we should call 911 and, like, register our position or something?”

“Yeah, maybe they’re going around and getting people out if they can first,” Finn says. “You need me to call?”

“I got it,” Puck says, but he puts the phone on speaker as he dials 911 and the dispatcher answers. “Yeah, hey, we’re in this multicar pileup.”

“My head’s really hurting,” Finn says, over the tinny sound of the dispatcher’s reply. “I’m just gonna close my eyes for a sec, okay? Lemme know what she says.”

Puck’s hand shakes his shoulder gently. “No, you gotta stay awake, dude.” Then he turns back to the phone. “Yeah, my ankle’s pinned. Airbag. Nosebleed, maybe a concussion. Yeah.” He shakes Finn again. “Finn, dude, stay awake.”

“Quit shaking me, d-bag,” Finn grumbles. “It’s making the blood go in my eyes.”

“Then you’ll have to keep talking to me. Dispatcher’s orders,” Puck says. 

“What do we talk about? How much it sucks to be stuck upside down in a car?”

Puck laughs. “Yeah, it does kind of suck. But we’re not, like, crushed or anything.” 

“You’re a little bit crushed,” Finn points out. “Do you think it’s broken?”

“Probably,” Puck admits. “But it’s just my ankle. They’ll put a cast on it and it’ll be fine.” 

“Gonna have to drive you everywhere,” Finn says. “You can’t ride your bike in a cast.”

“I was already planning on making you give me piggyback rides everywhere, so I didn’t have to use crutches,” Puck says, laughing briefly. 

“Do it hurt really bad?” Finn asks.

“Kinda numb now, actually,” Puck replies. “I’ll get ‘em to give me one of those blue casts and people will just think I have weird jeans.” 

Finn frowns and tries to crane his head to see Puck’s ankle, but it’s too dark and the angle is too awkward. “I think numb is bad, Puck,” he says quietly. 

“I’m fine,” Puck insists. “You should text your mom in case she watches the news.”

“I don’t think I can see the little buttons,” Finn admits. 

They hang in silence for a while. Eventually, Finn hears sirens wailing in the distance, but they don’t ever come much closer. He lets his eyes close again, hoping to at least block out the flashing yellow light and make his head stop throbbing. 

“No, man,” Puck fusses a few seconds later. “You can’t close your eyes. Okay?”

“That yellow light’s killing me,” Finn says. “My head hurts so bad.”

“Yeah, I know,” Puck says more quietly. “But you’re probably concussed, so you can’t go to sleep.”

“You’re concussed,” Finn counters irritably.

“Nah, just stuck here with you,” Puck says almost cheerfully. 

“How’s your ankle? Can you wiggle your toes?”

“No idea,” Puck says. “Since I can’t see them. Or really feel them.” 

“Shit. Okay,” Finn says. “I think my nose might be broken. It feels really swollen.”

“Yeah.” Puck reaches across, his fingers on Finn’s cheek before barely brushing against Finn’s nose. Finn hisses and flinches away, then tries to muster an apologetic smile for Puck.

“Hurts,” Finn says.

“Sorry, babe,” Puck says. “But yeah, I think you’re right. Did you ever want to change the shape of your nose?”

“I liked my nose,” Finn says. “It’s one of the parts I always liked.” He’s not sure why Puck called him ‘babe’, and he’s even less sure why it made him feel so much better, but anything that helps under the circumstances is a good thing.

“They can probably set it or whatever. Just avoid basketballs or anything.” Puck leaves his hand on Finn’s shoulder for a moment before removing it. “Broken nose and a concussion’s not too bad. Airbag probably broke your nose.”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Could be worse.” Like Puck’s ankle, he thinks, but doesn’t say out loud. 

They stop talking again, though Finn keeps his eyes open this time for Puck’s sake. Outside the car, the rain seems to fall even more heavily, some of it running in through the broken windows to pool in the car’s crushed roof. Some of Finn’s hair hangs close enough to the roof that it flops into the water when he moves his head.

“It’s been a long time,” Finn finally says. 

“Yeah.” Puck sounds worried, and he’s frowning. “We’re not the most injured people, I guess. Just not real good for the people that are.” 

“I hope they didn’t forget about us,” Finn says. His voice sounds very young and scared to him, and he wonders if it sounds like that to Puck, too. “I don’t want to die.”

“They’ll find us,” Puck says, and he reaches out with his cut and bloody hand to grab Finn’s hand. “Luckily a concussion isn’t fatal. Like I said, I just don’t want this to be our one shot at fame.” 

“Why not?” Finn asks. “Might be our only shot at this point.” He curls his fingers around Puck’s. 

“At the very least, I’d like to go down as someone who rocked the mohawk, not the passenger in car number eleven,” Puck says. “Right?”

“Right,” Finn says, squeezing Puck’s hand.

They hang there, hand in hand, for what feels like a long time, not talking, both of them listening for the sound of anyone coming to help. Finn thinks the sirens sound like they’re a little closer, but it’s hard to know for sure. His eyes feel heavy, and his neck hurts, and his nose hurts, and he’s been upside down for so long that he’s feeling more and more nauseated.

“I can’t feel my toes now,” Puck admits quietly.

Finn squeezes Puck’s hand again. “Someone’ll get us soon, okay?”

“Yeah. Good thing, too, since it’s getting chillier.” 

“Rain’s slowing down,” Finn says. “So that’s good at least. My hair’s wet.”

“As long as they don’t do any impromptu haircuts on us, getting us out,” Puck says. “Right?”

“Right,” Finn says, laughing. The laugh fades away, though, and they’re once again hanging in a dark car, waiting for someone to remember them. He squeezes Puck’s hand again, working a little piece of glass in the back of Puck’s thumb out with his own thumb, then watching the glass fall into the water pooled in the ceiling. 

“Thanks, babe,” Puck says softly. 

“You’re welcome,” Finn answers. “I’m sorry you’re here with me, but I’m kind of glad, too.”

“Yeah, me too,” Puck says. 

Finn exhales slowly through his mouth. His nose is now too swollen to breathe through at all. “Do you think it’s too late for us?” he asks Puck.

“No,” Puck says firmly, looking surprised at the vehemence of his answer a second later. 

“For anything, I mean,” Finn says, not exactly sure what specific thing it might be too late for. “Did we miss our chance for it to be different?”

“I guess I like to think there’s not just one chance,” Puck says after a few moments of silence. “We might’ve missed _a_ chance, or even some chances, but there’s others, right? There’s gotta be.”

“Just seems like everybody else took their chance already. Everybody else already got their chances. What’re we left with?”

“You and me, I guess,” Puck says. “Ain’t nothing.” 

“Yeah,” Finn agrees. “Yeah, ain’t nothing, you’re right.” He squeezes Puck’s hand again, gently, tracing along the side of Puck’s palm with his thumb. “I guess if I only got left with one thing, that’s the one I’d want.”

Puck smiles at that, nodding a little. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Besides, that could take us pretty far.” 

“How far?” Finn asks. “Out of Lima?”

“Where you want to go?” Puck asks. “Anyway, bet that truck company’ll be happy to pay out the insurance quietly, so pick a place.” 

“Can we go somewhere with mountains? I always wanted to see real mountains. Big ones, you know?” 

“Out west, maybe?” Puck says. “We can get us a tent and make it all like Brokeback, is that what you’re thinking?”

Finn laughs. “I was thinking more like one of those nice ski cabin things, but yeah, tent’s cool, too.”

Puck’s hand squeezes Finn’s, and Puck grins at him. “Whatever you want, babe. Might have to wait a few months for skiing, though.” 

“Yeah. I don’t know how to ski, anyway,” Finn says. “We can just stay in the cabin and drink hot cocoa, watch the snow fall. Get some of those really big, fluffy blankets so we don’t get cold.”

“Plenty of ways to stay warm,” Puck agrees. “See? Plenty of chances.”

“Yeah,” Finn says. Another few minutes pass before he says anything else. “Puck, I’m scared.”

Puck doesn’t answer immediately, but then he nods slowly. “Yeah. Me too.”

“I’m really glad you’re here with me. I wouldn’t—if I were alone, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Puck tightens his grip on Finn’s hand. “It would suck a lot more.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere without you,” Finn says.

“I won’t. We won’t,” Puck promises. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Finn says, then repeats it more firmly. “Okay.”

Light reflects up from the water in the the car ceiling, then moves around the inside of the car in a beam; a flashlight.

“Hey! I found two more!” a voice shouts from outside the car. Finn squeezes Puck’s hand. “Are you two alright in here?” the voice asks. “Are you injured?”

“Finn’s got a concussion and a broken nose,” Puck answers. “My ankle’s pinned.” 

“Get him out first,” Finn says. “I’m okay. Just get him out and in an ambulance.”

“Nope, you first,” Puck says almost cheerfully. “I’m pretty sure hanging upside down is bad for a concussion.”

“We’ll get both of you out,” the voice outside the car reassures them. “We’ve got ambulances standing by just up the road. We’re getting some stretchers down here, and the saw.”

“Don’t cut off his foot!” Finn yells, reaching for he and Puck’s joined hands with his free hand.

“See, take him first,” Puck says, then his other hand lands on top of Finn’s. “It’s okay, babe, they’re just going to cut the car.” 

“I won’t let them put me in the ambulance until you’re out,” Finn insists. “I’ll make them wait until you’re out, okay? I’ll be right here.” The car rocks, water sloshing up against Finn’s hair and face, and the door on his side scrapes the blacktop as the rescue team pulls the door open. “Puck, I’ll be right here, okay?”

“Okay,” Puck repeats. “Just stay awake for me, babe. Okay?”

Two pairs of arms reach in and support Finn as someone cuts the shoulder strap of the seat belt, sending him slumping forward, suddenly falling from the seat. He doesn’t hit the broken windshield, though. Instead, the rescue team eases him out of the door. “Okay!” Finn calls back to Puck. “I’m awake! I’ll wait here for you!”

Now that he’s no longer upside down, the blood rushes out of Finn’s head, leaving him dizzy, and his nose starts bleeding again. Somebody applies pressure to his nose, while somebody else gets him onto a stretcher, and a third person puts a supporter thing around his neck, and somewhere in there, Finn passes out. 

“Finn,” Puck’s voice calls. “Finn, babe, wake up. Finn!”

“Did we die?” Finn mumbles, his eyes still closed. “Is this heaven? It sucks here.”

“Flattered I’d be in your heaven,” Puck says, “but no. And I strongly advise _not_ looking at my ankle, so keep that in mind.” 

“Are you okay?” Finn asks, opening his eyes. “Puck, are you alright?”

“I’m good. It’s just kinda gross,” Puck says. “They’re taking us to the hospital now.” 

“Awesome,” Finn says. 

“A lot drier, at least.” Puck’s hand collides with Finn’s side, then wraps around Finn’s hand. “Head still hurting pretty bad?”

“Yeah. Can you feel your toes yet?”

“Unfortunately,” Puck says with a short laugh. “Hospital at least should have some awesome painkillers, right?”

“Don’t let them take me someplace you’re not,” Finn says, clinging to Puck’s hand. “If I fall asleep again or something. Don’t let them take you someplace else, either.”

“I’ll do my best, babe,” Puck promises. “Try to stay awake for me, though.”

“Okay,” Finn says. “I’ll try.”

He fails.

“Finn! We’re almost at the hospital, babe. Finn. Wake up,” Puck calls. 

“I’m awake,” Finn grumbles. “I tried.” The ambulance goes over a bump and shakes, and Finn squeezes Puck’s hand. 

“You two are so cute,” says the female EMT sitting near the foot of Finn’s stretcher. 

“See, we’re cute,” Puck says to Finn. 

“Yeah,” Finn agrees. 

“Maybe that’ll get us more than five seconds,” Puck says jokingly. 

“I don’t want fame. I want mountains,” Finn says. 

“We’ll get some mountains,” Puck says. 

The ambulances pulls into the bay at the E.R., and the EMTs unload Puck’s stretcher first, followed by Finn’s. The stretchers get wheeled into an area with lots of curtains, and when the nurse-people try to close the curtain between his bed and Puck’s, Finn says, “Don’t!”

Puck smiles at the nurse and shakes his head, reaching for Finn. “You can leave those open.”

The nurse nods and leaves, coming back with two clipboards after some amount of time passes. She looks at Finn, looks at Puck, and hands both clipboards to Puck. “You can leave anything blank on his that you two don’t know.”

“Sure,” Puck agrees, picking up the pen. 

Finn tries to sit up some, but he doesn’t quite manage before his head starts to spin again and he has to lie down. He does manage to get a quick glimpse of Puck’s ankle, which is elevated and has ice packs on it. 

“Does it hurt?” Finn asks. “Did they give you the drugs yet?”

“Not as much as I thought they would,” Puck admits, looking up from the paperwork. “What’s your blood type? They have to make sure the swelling won’t get in the way or something.”

“A. Or maybe O. I’m pretty sure it’s positive.”

“I’ll just tell them to type you,” Puck says, writing something, presumably that, down. “They have to x-ray my ankle and all of that before they give me the good drugs.” 

“Are they gonna let me stay with you?”

“They’d better, babe,” Puck says, flipping to the next page on the clipboard. “You still on Carole’s health insurance?”

“My card’s in my wallet,” Finn says. “My wallet’s... somewhere.”

“Probably still in your pocket.” Puck looks between the beds, then shakes his head. “They can wait and get that later. Man, they’re nosey.”

“What do they wanna know?”

“Family history of everything ever,” Puck says with a snort. “If they ask, you’re listed as my partner and vice versa. Should help grease the wheels.”

“Okay,” Finn agrees, his eyelids drooping closed again. “Sounds nice.”

“Still don’t think you’re supposed to sleep, babe,” Puck says softly. 

“I can sleep ‘cause you’re my partner,” Finn says sleepily. “You’ll do my papers.” The last thing he hears is Puck chuckling. When he opens his eyes again, the bed next to him is empty.

“Puck?” Finn says, looking around, having the strange feeling that Puck could have just fallen out of his bed and be stuck on the floor or something. Then, louder, he calls out, “Puck?”

“Did you need something, Mr. Puckerman?” asks a nurse, pushing back the curtain.

“What?” Finn asks.

“Did you need something?”

“Puck.”

“You’re looking for your husband?” the nurse asks.

“What?” Finn asks.

“They took him back for x-rays,” the nurse says.

“What?” Finn asks.

“X-rays,” the nurse enunciates carefully. “On his ankle.”

“They weren’t supposed to take him anywhere without me,” Finn says sadly. 

“Must be newlyweds.” The nurse shakes her head. “Honey, you’ll get tired of going everywhere with him eventually, trust me.”

“What?” Finn asks.

“The on-call will come back around to check you in just a minute,” the nurse says, chuckling at him. 

Since Finn really isn’t following what’s going on, and Puck is gone and doesn’t seem to be coming back immediately, Finn just gives up and falls asleep again. When he opens his eyes, Puck is back in his bed, propped up on one elbow and looking at Finn.

“Hey,” Finn says. “They took you away while I was sleeping. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Puck sighs a little. “They’re gonna have to take me away again.”

“Why?” Finn fluffs the pillow under his head, finally just folding it in half to elevate his head. 

“They’re gonna have to do surgery on my ankle,” Puck explains. “Since everything’s all crushed and not just fractured.”

“Oh no,” Finn says, sitting up suddenly, which makes him dizzy. “When?”

“Hey, slow down,” Puck says, reaching between the beds with one arm. “They said a couple of hours, so who knows exactly. It’s okay.” 

Finn sways, but he doesn’t lie back down. “How bad is it? How long is the surgery gonna take? Are you okay?”

“Lie back down, babe,” Puck says, gesturing at Finn. “I don’t know, I tuned out the details. They’ll probably come tell you anyway. I’ll be fine. Just going to take a little longer than six or eight weeks like I thought.” 

“I’ll drive you around. Well, when I get another car,” Finn says. He doesn’t lie down, though. “I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to worry about it. I’ll cook food for you and stuff like that!”

Puck grins. “Not worried. I mean, sure, it’ll suck for a few months, not really being able to walk, but I’ll be fine at the end. Coulda been worse.”

“I’m worried,” Finn says.

“Why?” 

“I don’t want you to have to have surgery. They won’t let me sit in there with you while they do it, will they?”

“No,” Puck admits. “But they have to do it. The surgery, I mean.” 

“What am I supposed to do while you have the surgery? Should I call your mom or, I dunno,” Finn shrugs, wincing at how sore his shoulders are after who knows how long hanging upside down in the car. “Jake?”

“I don’t know, we can call people tomorrow, right?” Puck says. “They’ll let you into recovery, I bet. Probably in a wheelchair, but that’s something.” Puck shakes his head. “Either lie down or come over here.”

“Over there,” Finn says. He stands unsteadily and walks the few feet to Puck’s bed. Puck moves over and Finn lies down next to him, careful not to bump Puck’s foot. Once Finn’s all the way on the bed, Puck leans up, looking at Finn expectantly. “What?” Finn asks.

Puck chuckles. “Put your arm under there. And I heard about you and your ‘what’ questions for the nurse.” 

Finn puts his arm under Puck, and Puck settles back onto the bed, curling up against Finn. As Puck snuggles against him, Finn wraps both his arms around Puck and rests his chin against the top of Puck’s head. “Does your shoulder really hurt?” Finn asks. “Mine does.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t feel good,” Puck says. “Gonna tell you something. Don’t freak out, okay?”

“Okay,” Finn says. “It’s not more surgery, is it?”

“Nah. Just, the surgeon guy said it was good the space my ankle was pinned in wasn’t smaller, or that it wasn’t there longer. You know?” Puck asks, like he’s expecting Finn to fill in the gaps.

“Or it would be a lot worse?” Finn says. “Yeah.” Without even thinking about it, he presses his lips to the top of Puck’s head. “I think you’ve still got some glass in your hair,” he whispers.

“Maybe you can wash it out for me later,” Puck says. “Once you’re not so dizzy.”

“I’ll be okay. I’ll be ready to take care of you as soon as we get home,” Finn promises, kissing Puck’s head again. 

“Good thing I lied on the paperwork,” Puck says quietly. “I’ll probably be stuck here a day or two after you get free.”

“I think the nurse thinks we’re married.”

“Can’t imagine why she’d think that,” Puck says too innocently. 

“They can’t make me leave if you’re still here,” Finn says stubbornly. “So, I guess it’s good if they think that so they don’t try too hard.”

“Not a bad thing at all,” Puck agrees, shifting his weight and ending up even closer to Finn. 

“But dude?”

“Yeah?” Puck says, a little warily.

“I’m _so_ not taking the name Puckerman.”

Puck laughs softly. “I just figured it’d be more convincing if we had the same last name.”

“Hudson. We’ll both be Hudsons if we have to fill out anymore paperwork,” Finn says.

“Guess I know who’s wearing the pants up in the mountains,” Puck says, laughing again. 

Finn laughs softly and leans his face against the top of Puck’s head. “Let me guess. Nobody?”

“I like that answer,” Puck says. “That’s a good answer.”

The curtain is pushed back by another pair of nurses with a new gurney. “Okay, Mr. Puckerman?”

“Which one?” Puck asks, not moving. 

“The one having ankle surgery,” the same nurse replies.

“I already said I’m not changing my name to Puckerman,” Finn grumbles. 

Puck raises his hand up. “That’s me.” 

“Time to get you into pre-op.”

Finn holds Puck a little more tightly. “You come back soon, okay?” Finn whispers into the top of Puck’s head. 

“It’ll be fine,” Puck assures him quietly, then shifts to look at the nurse. “Can someone take Finn in a wheelchair down to recovery, after?”

“If they don’t, I’ll walk there,” Finn says. 

“I’m sure something can be arranged,” the other nurse says. “Let’s move you down to this bed.”

“‘Kay,” Puck says, turning back to Finn. “See you in a couple of hours,” he says, leaning in and giving Finn a quick kiss. Finn feels dizzy again, but this time he’s sure it’s not from the concussion, because it’s a good kind of dizzy.

“Yeah, see you there,” Finn assures him. “And you’d better warn that doctor to do a good job, or I’ll hunt them down and do something terrible.”

“I’ll be rocking the cast, babe,” Puck says as the nurses move him to the other bed, then put the sides of it up to wheel Puck to surgery. 

Finn watches the gurney until it’s out of sight, then lies back on Puck’s bed again with a long sigh. There’s no way he won’t spend the next few hours worrying about Puck, and since the E.R. doesn’t really have anything else entertaining and he isn’t sure where his phone or wallet went, Finn opts for dozing until the doctor comes in. The doctor shines a light in Finn’s eyes, checks his neck and shoulders, looks at his nose, and eventually diagnoses Finn with a concussion, a broken nose, a possible case of mild whiplash, and lots of bruises on his torso that the doctor assures him will look and feel worse before they get better.

Finally, though, an orderly comes in with a wheelchair and takes Finn down to recovery, where he only halfway listens to the surgeon’s explanations of anything beyond “he came through it fine.” Finn gets his wheelchair rolled up beside Puck’s recovery bed, where Puck looks dead to the world, way paler than usual. Finn takes Puck’s hand in both of his and sits there for a while, holding it. 

Puck groans once, turning his head to the side, then doesn’t make another noise or open his eyes for a few more minutes. Finn keeps Puck’s hand in one of his, using his other hand to gently touch Puck’s face.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” Finn says softly. 

“What?” Puck mutters.

“They had to amputate,” Finn whispers. “But they replaced your foot with a dog paw. It’s kinda badass.”

“M’a badass,” Puck says, still mumbling.

“Yeah you are,” Finn agrees. “You gonna wake up now?”

“Already over?” Puck asks, squinting at Finn. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey. Yeah, you did really good. I wasn’t for real about the dog paw.”

“S’heavy,” Puck says. He lifts one hand, draping it over the side of the bed. “You see a doc?”

“Yeah. I’m okay. We can talk about me later, right? This is Puck-time right now,” Finn says. 

“And Puck—no.” Puck shakes his head, like he’s irritated with himself. “And I wanted to make sure. How much longer am I locked up than you?”

“None longer,” Finn says. “I’m not leaving without you, remember? So we’re here for at least twenty-four hours.”

“Huh. Not too bad.” Puck grins sleepily at Finn. “You gonna climb up in this bed? Or the nurses stricter here?”

“Scoot over then, lazy bum. I’m coming up.” Puck’s grin gets wider and he does scoot to one side, though his ankle doesn’t move. Finn carefully climbs up onto the bed next to him, putting his arm around Puck again like he’d had it before Puck got wheeled off to surgery.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Finn says quietly. 

“Right back atcha,” Puck says, closing his eyes again and resting his head on Finn’s upper arm and the pillow. “But you’d still love me, even with a dog paw.”

“Yeah, but I’d make you wear a flea collar,” Finn says. He presses his lips to the top of Puck’s head. “I do, though.”

“Good.” Puck looks up again and smiles. “You’d better, since we’re married, babe.” 

“Yeah,” Finn agrees solemnly. “When I thought, you know. That we might not make it out of that car?”

“Yeah,” Puck says quietly, smile fading. 

“I think half of me was afraid neither one of us would make it. The other half was afraid it was only gonna be one of us,” Finn confesses. “And I guess... I guess I didn’t want to go it without you, either way. I just wanted us to stay together.”

“Yeah. We’ve got that mountain cabin to find, too,” Puck says, and he lifts one hand to rest it in Finn’s hair. “Glad your hair’s dry.” Puck lifts his head and presses his lips to Finn’s, more firmly than earlier. Finn cradles Puck’s face in his hand and returns the kiss, not trying to make it any more than it needs to be, which is just a statement that they’re in this together, both of them. 

Puck grins at him. “I’m going to go back to sleep now, if you’ve got this... Mr. Puckerman.”

“Yeah, I got this,” Finn assures him. He doesn’t argue about the name, because Puck’s already drifting back to sleep. 

Anyway, nothing’s legally binding yet.


End file.
